


head over heels ( and out the front door )

by kimsvngkyus, sidneythekidney



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic, Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Drarry, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, a really cute swaddled draco that will make your heart ache it made mine ache, also art to come !!!!, cute make up scenes, flangst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7228576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimsvngkyus/pseuds/kimsvngkyus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidneythekidney/pseuds/sidneythekidney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is an Auror, he's tired. Draco tries to cook, does he succeed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. spaghetti sauce and cashmere jumpers

It was already the fourth night in a row that Harry was coming back late from his ‘grimy Auror duties’ and Draco was completely, totally and _utterly sick_ of having greasy takeaway food that came in ugly styrofoam boxes and seemed to make it their personal most important _mission_ to do the best they could to stink up the apartment that Draco had put _so much effort_ into trying to make smell good. (He lit a few vanilla scented candles now and then, exclaiming they were the only ones left but _really_ , Harry knew he loved those small, turtle shaped, scented candles. )

 

Draco turned away from the lounge, heading towards Harry’s study. Harry enjoyed cooking on occasion and Draco knew he owned more than the ‘couple’ cookbooks that he claimed he’d bought. Harry loved a good plate of spaghetti and a good cut of beef, but what he loved most and had _never_ been able to resist were the small, oven toasted s'mores that Draco had made the first time they celebrated Harry’s birthday together. Draco _knew_ he wasn’t the best, or even a remotely good chef and at that time he’d combined Harry’s immense love for chocolate and the marshmallows he’d found in the cupboard and struck home with his s’mores.  Harry had loved them, grabbing one in each hand the moment they came out of the oven and promptly dropping them on the table, only narrowly missing burning his fingers as Draco stood aside and watched.

 

Smiling to himself, Draco grabbed a few cookbooks of Harry’s shelves, hugging them to his chest with renewed vigour. Thoroughly energized by the thought of Harry’s inevitable surprise and how much he would like it. Draco knew Harry was always especially touched when Draco took the time and care to cook for him. It had stemmed from Harry’s childhood, where he’d never been cooked for, only forced to cook for others. Determined to make this meal perfect, Draco started pulling bowls and utensils from the shelves.

 

“Now, _how did Harry do this again_?”

 

***

 

Expensive cashmere jumper dotted with the aftermath of Draco’s wrestling match with the too-tightly screwed on cap of the jar of tomato sauce, Draco’s brows knotted. Hehad managed to get the jar open at last but not without spilling a quarter on his jumper, have the lid fly out of his hands and knock a mug off the counter and lose his balance and end up with a multitude of minor burns across his fingers where he had instinctively reached out to grab a hold of the nearest object - the pan, that just so happened to be extremely hot. Draco was tired, sticky and he felt absolutely disgusting, but he managed to conjure up a decent plate of spaghetti and steak and escape alive. Well, alive with burns and cuts and horrendously messy hair.

 

Eyes straying to the clock above the floo, Draco sighed happily, everything was in place, Harry was due to step out from the floo in exactly forty-five minutes. That left Draco with just enough time to clean up the _huge_ mess he’d made of the kitchen and pop the s'mores in the oven.

 

Surveying the damage with his hands on his hips, Draco wondered just _how in Merlin_ did he manage to get bloody spaghetti stuck to the ceiling and puddles of water and oil all over the floor. Draco looked down at his feet and groaned - so _he_ was the one tracking tomato sauce in circles around the kitchen. Deciding that he needed to get out of his jumper and the grime out of his hair right this instant, Draco assured himself that there’d be more than enough time for both a shower and the clean up. Flicking a quick Stasis charm over the food, Draco left the kitchen.

 

Stepping out the shower clad in a clean, maroon sweater, Draco stared at his reflection in the mirror. Wincing slightly at the big, ugly lion emblazoned across the front of his sweater, Draco’s raised an eyebrow at his reflection before shrugging slightly. It smelled like Harry, he didn’t have a choice. He had to _wear_ it.

 

Sulking slightly, it wasn’t his fault he was wearing one of Harry’s old sweaters. Sometimes Harry didn’t even make it home before sunrise and he’d been staying out overnight more and more these days. Frankly, Draco wasn’t even sure if all his effort would be worth anything if Harry didn’t come back tonight. Ducking his head slightly to bury the tip of his nose in the neckline of Harry’s sweater, Draco inhaled deeply, dragging Harry’s warm, vanilla scent into his lungs. If only Harry came back more often, then he wouldn’t have to resort to wearing this _oversized, ugly, monstrosity_ of a sweater.

 

Checking on the time once more to make sure Harry wasn’t back yet, Draco slipped into the kitchen, bending down to pop the s'mores into the oven. Smiling softly at the thought of what would be Harry’s reaction when he came back to this surprise, Draco straightened up, turning towards the overflowing sink and absolute mess of a kitchen. Hand on his hips, he sighed; he had twenty minutes to get rid of this mess.

 

“Draco? Where are you? I’m home.”

 

“Have you ordered today’s takeaway Draco? I’m starving.”

 

Draco’s mind spluttered, once, twice and stopped abruptly. This was going to be the _first time_ Harry had _ever_ tried his food and Draco was scared bloody shitless.

 

“Draco?” Draco steeled himself against the kitchen counter. _Breathe,_ he told himself, slow, steady breaths.

 

Draco Lucius Malfoy, he told himself, you have put your heart and your soul and so much effort into this meal. Merlin’s sake, you even put your bloody robes at risk for this. Everything will be perfect, it can’t possibly not be.

 

“Coming, coming already!” Draco cursed under his breath and turned to the lounge, now he could do nothing but hope for the best.

 

“Here, give me your coat,” arms outstretched, Draco reached for Harry’s deep red Auror robes, preparing to hang them up so they didn’t get creased when Harry grabbed him by the wrist, warm fingers gentle against Draco’s pale wrist.

 

“Nice shirt you're wearing, really _fashionable_ ,” Harry quipped sarcastically, dropping a quick kiss on a startled Draco’s lips. Draco’s heart twisted, how could this man’s eyes look _so_ alive when the rest of him was drawn and battered and _oh so tired?_ Overcome by a sudden wave of emotion, Draco leaned forward to envelop Harry in a crushing hug, forcing his head under Harry’s chin and arms tight around his waist.

 

Harry’s hands came up instinctively to cup Draco’s slim neck, massaging gently and to card through Draco’s hair, smooth locks of flaxen gold slipping easily through his fingers. Dropping a kiss lightly on the crown of Draco’s head, Harry pulled away, smiling softly.

 

Tucking Harry’s robes under his arm as he padded towards the laundry, Harry’s subtle mutterings drew him back to the kitchen.

 

***

 

Draco returned to the kitchen to find Harry hunched over the kitchen sink. _The dishes!_ Draco shot into action.

 

“Lo-look Harry, I can explain. I promise!”

 

“Explain what Draco? I come back from chasing Wilson across the _fucking_ country and I’m expected to help clean up the dishes you left for me?” Harry spat, brow furrowed. Avada Kedavra eyes flashing dangerously. They were so _warm, so welcoming_ and they were the reason why Draco had grown to love this particular shade of green, but now they seemed anything but. Gaze sharp and hands on his hips, Harry was seething. This, was _bad._

 

“No, Harry, I was going to do the dishes, I swear. I just didn’t expect you back so early!” Draco pleaded, eyes wide. His hand drifted unconsciously towards Harry’s arm, fingertips _reaching_ and _seeking_ for just the smallest of contact. He wanted to feel the heat that always came along with any contact with Harry, be it a chaste brush of lips, how Harry loved to stop whatever he was doing to press a line of kisses down the line of Draco’s jaw, or even how leaning against the hard planes of Harry’s chest made the nerves in his back react with alarming intensity. Just as Draco’s fingertips brushed along Harry’s forearm, Harry jerked back, seeming to twitch under Draco’s gaze.

 

Harry had never rejected a touch from Draco before, cease those times in Hogwarts and the butterflies in Draco’s stomach before the meal seemed to turn to a large hoard of angry, buzzing hornets. Draco swallowed.

 

“H-Harry I’m sorry I promise, I’ll clean up after we eat, you’ll love what’s for dinner today-” Draco beseeched, hoping and praying that Harry would calm just that little bit down so he wouldn’t act impulsively. Harry’s first instinct when angry was to lash out and isolate himself and Draco hoped to _dear Merlin_ that Harry wasn’t that angry.

 

“Now look here,” Harry snarled, “you may have had house elves to clean up after your petty Malfoy _ass_ all your life, but that doesn’t bloody _mean_ that I’ll do the same.”

 

“No, Harry that’s not what I-” Draco started, flinching back as Harry rolled his eyes, leaning down and sneering condescending, glowing emeralds locked onto Draco’s smoke grey orbs.

 

“I have lived in this very flat, with you, for _three years_ already, don’t fucking act like I don’t know your _spoiled pureblood habits.”_

 

Draco’s mind flopped. Was this what he expected when he spent an entire afternoon trying and hoping he didn’t fuck up Harry’s dinner? No, for Merlin’s sake, _no._ Everything was at stake now since Harry was this angry and as much as Draco didn’t want to admit it, Harry’s words hurt. Draco’s hands curled into themselves, fingernails pushing deep crescents into the flesh of his palms. Harry was _tired,_ he reminded himself, he might just be snappy from all the work. Holding on to the shred of hope that Harry _didn’t_ mean everything he just said. He _couldn’t!_ They’d been together for so long, it must mean something to Harry, Draco worried his bottom lip, it meant the world to him. Regardless of whatever the situation was right now, Draco knew one thing, _he had to make things work._

 

“Harry, I’m sorry, I really will clean up, I mean it. Won’t you at least try dinner? I spent the whole afternoon on it, you know how bad I get at cooking.” Draco laughed shakily, a lacklustre attempt to lighten the mood. Instead of having its desired effect, Harry’s face twisted, a deep scowl marring his features.

 

“Yeah? And you know what are the times where you ever put in effort?” Harry said, a dark smile stretching his lips. Draco hurried to answer, mouth open when Harry interrupted sharply.

 

“Yes. Only when there are things you want, and obviously you had some abnormal food craving today, didn’t you?” Draco recoiled, flesh on his palms screaming from the pressure of his nails. Draco knew he had been demanding when he had certain cravings but, Harry had always just laughed and said, “ _only for you_ ” as he would smile and get off the couch to fetch whatever Draco had wanted. To think that Harry found his “abnormal food cravings” so seemingly disgusting was a stone that settled deep in his gut, cooling him down considerably. Eyes fixated on the subtle glow of the stasis charm over Harry’s plate in a valiant attempt to curb his tears, Draco breathed deeply, struggling to pull oxygen into his lungs.

 

“Okay, okay Harry I’m sorry but I promise this time wasn’t for my cravings,” Draco implored, “abnormal and annoying aren’t they?” Draco laughed self deprecatingly, “they must be horrible to deal with.” The one thing Draco didn’t expect Harry to do, was to _agree._

 

“Ex-fucking-zactly Malfoy. You don’t bloody realise how your prattish pureblood upbringing had made you, do you? Snobbish and demanding and an absolute _horror_ to deal with, it’s amazing how long I stayed.” At this very moment, Draco’s heart squeezed once, twice, and promptly _broke._

 

Draco’s eyes shut, eyelids twitching uneasily, and opened to reveal the discernible sheen of tears gathering. Upset at his outward show of weakness, Draco’s hands tightened further as the first nail broke skin and the first drop of blood met air.

 

_If he’s so hung up about me being a Malfoy, I’ll show him what being a Malfoy really means._

 

Draco had had bloody enough of this, all he wanted was to have a nice dinner at home and had gotten his heart torn apart and trampled in return.

 

As a cold facade slipped over his face, Draco’s voice didn’t tremble.

 

“Well, as good a breath of fresh air that was, you must know that _jealousy_ over my privileged upbringing doesn’t look very good on you.” When not a muscle on his face moved, Draco knew he was back to his Hogwarts days of underhanded sniping and coarse jeering. Exactly what a slytherin would be good at. Letting his hand rest on the wooden dinner table, Draco hoped that it would stain, a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Being a slytherin was all about getting these small victories. No one ever thought they were important, then they let you win, and after you collect all your bounties, people realise that, maybe these were the ones that tipped the scale.

 

Before Harry could respond, Draco managed to grind out, despite his overwhelming inner turmoil.

 

“Since you're above all my _Malfoy bullshit,_ you're very welcome to make your own dinner.” Draco reached out with one pale hand, all long fingers and slim wrist, and very calmly, or so he appeared, ended the stasis charm and tipped over what would have been a very good dinner of spaghetti and steak.

 

This was when Draco had shown any sign of emotion, he’d gotten rusty without practice. He knew, _goddamnit_ , and he cussed softly.

 

“At least now you won’t have to deal with my prattishness and my horrible pureblood culture and my abnormalities and how insanely irritating I am anymore, because I’m fucking leaving.” Draco’s words tripped and tumbled over each other in their haste and there was a terse moment of silence as Harry stood, absolutely speechless and Draco beat himself up over how his voice had managed to crack on the last word.

 

Draco’s eyes skimmed across their shared apartment, before wandlessly summoning his wand, a bittersweet smile etched across his face as a single tear managed to wrestle itself down Draco’s face.

 

Not wanting to risk any more signs of potential breakdown, Draco swiftly turned, and promptly walked out the door.


	2. bad tea and old scarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco panics. It hurts.

Snowflakes dusted the ground outside the door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, twisting through the air and landing softly on the tear-streaked cheeks of a heartbroken Draco Malfoy. 

 

Draco’s hand trembled as he reached up to wipe the snowflakes away, melting snow mixing with fresh, warm tears. Looking out on the snow streaked lawn, memories flooded Draco’s mind.

 

*** 

 

“Hey,”

 

Draco turned to find a sleep rumpled Harry leaning on the doorframe. Draco loved seeing Harry when he first woke up. Harry would be without glasses, and his eyes would slide open to reveal the most alive of greens and familiar affection brewing in those vibrant emerald depths. Then Harry would reach up to bop Draco on the nose, before smiling crookedly and burrowing back under the covers, always in contact with some part of Draco. Draco liked it when Harry played with his hair in the morning. Harry’s hands, so calloused from Auror work and quidditch and with  _ so much _ raw power inside of them, would become unimaginably gentle. Harry would twist strands of his hair around his fingers, or run his hands through Draco’s hair, giving it the combing it never seemed to need. Sometimes, when Harry was feeling lazy, he would simply rest his hand on the top of Draco’s head, fingers curling round to stroke the back of Draco’s ear, and that would be enough. 

 

That would be enough, because he was Draco, and that was Harry. 

 

***

 

Draco had realised, that it could have been that very moment, with Harry looking soft and warm and perfect, that he was so very much in love, with Harry James Potter.

 

_ But that wasn’t the case anymore, was it? _

 

Breathing deeply, Draco pressed his palms against his eyes, hoping his tear tracks wouldn’t show and hurried to the nearest apparition point before his fingers could get any colder. 

 

***

 

That night, Draco apparated to Pansy’s and Harry went out for a drink.

 

Harry sighed, palms pressed against his temple, seething silently. He was fucking tired, alright? He’d had had a particularly gruesome day, having literally chased Wilson across the country via broomstick, and crashing into not one, but seven extremely  _ sturdy,  _ extremely  _ prickly _ , pine trees, coming out with pine cones down his shirt and in his breeches. It certainly hadn’t been the best day. Cussing softly, Harry rolled out the kinks in his neck and bent down to firecall Ron for a drink.

 

Ron had agreed, so Harry left. Brusquely shrugging on his worn, brown coat, Harry slammed the door to Number 12 Grimmauld Place on his way out.

 

He didn’t hear the oven go off.

 

***

 

How did Draco know that Harry had went and gotten himself completely, thoroughly knackered that night? 

 

It was splashed across the front page of the Daily Prophet.

 

Draco had stopped reading the Daily Prophet about two years ago when they were still in the midst of relentlessly printing headlines like “Devious Death Eater Seduces Unwilling Boy Who Lived”. Ironic, how it was Harry that’d asked him to stop reading it, but today, sat in Pansy’s shockingly maroon lounge (you wouldn’t believe the witch’s obsession with maroon, curtains, armchairs, carpets, even maroon lampshades), a cup of sub-par tea (Harry always made the best tea, but as of now Harry was  _ Rude Ungrateful Git that deserves to Rot in Azkaban _ ) and Pansy sitting across him, legs crossed, causing her tight leather skirt (also maroon) to ride up a fair bit, perfectly drawn left eyebrow raised expectantly, Draco sighed. He levitated the Daily Prophet to Pansy with a single flick of his wrist, watching her again, perfectly drawn eyebrows draw together, creases marring her pale forehead. 

 

“You’ll get wrinkles.” Draco supplied helpfully, watching Pansy’s scowl deepen as she threw the Daily Prophet into the lit fireplace.

 

“Waste of money,” Pansy muttered darkly, before turning to Draco, hands clasped under her chin, elbow resting on her lifted knee. Draco was familiar with this pose, he was going to get interrogated. He was going to get interrogated Good ( or bad? Bad for him? He wasn’t really sure ).

 

“Draco, you showed up on my doorstep, at 10pm yesterday, looking like someone had killed, no  _ gutted  _ your favourite crup in front of your face, and  _ today,  _ this is all over the Prophet. Care to explain why  _ darling Harry  _ is out  _ partying  _ and you are here? On  _ my _ couch. In  _ my _ house. Drinking  _ my  _ tea. And moping.”

 

Draco sighed again. It was either spill it all now, or let Pansy pry it out of him with a crowbar. 

 

Draco spilled it.

 

At the end of it, Pansy’s eyebrows were  _ twitching  _ and she was about ready to apparate to wherever Harry was (probably hungover), and hex the absolute shit out of him. 

Draco sighed a third time. He didn’t want to fight right now. He wanted to sit in bed and mope and eat a hundred tubs of ice cream and binge buy hair potion off Sleekeazys. 

 

“Pansy, just let me stay here for now.” Draco said, resigned, setting his tea down. Pansy’s face immediately softened, smiling sadly at Draco.

 

“Go get some rest Draco, it’s been a rough night.”

 

***

 

Harry stumbled into Number 12 Grimmauld Place at three in the morning, dead drunk and completely wasted. He fell asleep on the couch, hands fisted around Draco’s scarf. 

 

It smelled like Draco.

 

***

 

Draco woke up cold. Instinctively reaching out to curl his hand around a slim waist that wasn’t here. Draco turned back into his pillow in an irrational attempt to smother himself and maybe smother that little part of his heart yearning for Harry. Draco groaned, he wanted to grab that pillow and beat the missing out of him too because  _ of course  _ Harry definitely wouldn’t be missing him after yesterday. This was what he’d wanted.

 

To get away from Draco’s nagging and annoying habits and cravings and to just get away from _Draco_ _(what if he never liked me at all)_ and- _oh god_ Draco couldn’t breathe and he was choking and _goodness I haven’t had one of these since I had Harry._

 

***

 

Draco had panic attacks. Back when the war had ended, Draco was flighty and twitchy and the slightest bit of emotional distress could set him off. Draco remembered, right after Harry has testified for him and Draco was cleared and he didn’t have to go to Azkaban and  _ he didn’t have to go to Azkaban  _ and Draco was ecstatic and so relieved and so tired he could have cried and at that point in time it seemed like everything would be alright. So he’d walked out the doors of the courtroom, thinking he had his life back and  _ I’ll be okay! I’m alive and I’m not in Azkaban and I’m  _ **_okay_ ** _! _

 

The first flash had gone off. 

 

“Death Eater scum!” was thrown across the hallway, aimed right for Draco’s barely-healed heart. Menace and contempt so deeply embedded in the hoarse yell that Draco was sure he wouldn’t be able to separate it from that particular statement if he’d tried.

 

Suddenly the corridor was a myriad of flashes and voices and questions and Draco couldn’t breathe and  _ the walls were closing in on him and someone please stop this someone please help me  _ and Draco was a heap in the corner with his arms braced above his head. 

 

_ How stupid can I get?  _

 

Everything obviously wasn’t okay and Draco cussed himself out for ever thinking for a single moment it would be okay and tried, tried with major difficulty to drag air into his protesting lungs. Now Draco was trembling and the flashes and the questions just  _ didn’t stop  _ and Draco swore he was going to die right there and then from the lack of oxygen and everything would be for nothing and honestly  _ what was he thinking?  _

 

Draco thinks he is about to actually pass out when someone is shouting and angry-yelling and all of a sudden the reporters are backing away and there is a warm palm massaging the back of his neck and Draco is so tired and he can finally breathe but the darkness is welcoming and Draco gladly slips into it.

 

The hand on his neck belonged to Harry James Potter.

 

***

 

But there is no Harry today (after an entire  _ year  _ where Harry was always there for him) and Draco is clutching at his chest and gasping into the sheets, making awful wheezy noises as his hands clench and unclench around the collar of his nightshirt. Draco moves to get a glass of water from the pitcher on his nightstand and he can feel the pressure on his throat as Draco makes hurt, raspy noises. He watches his shaking hands fumble with the pitcher and his hands falter for a second and the pitcher crashes to the floor. 

 

Water puddles around the broken glass, curling into Pansy’s expensive rug. Draco is still as he studies the broken glass. 

 

It looks like his heart, Draco decides.

 

Still shaking, Draco reaches out a hand, pale fingers cradling the largest shard of glass. Draco brings it up to the light and a rainbow filters through it. 

 

A single tear slips down his cheek.

 

A drop of blood off Draco’s finger follows.

 

***

 

Harry wakes up the next day, legs half hanging off the couch, mouth disgustingly cotton-y and brain thudding a painful rhythm against the back of his skull. Harry struggles on the couch, tiredly trying to flip onto his back, and ends up a) falling off the sofa entirely, b) knocking his elbow on the coffee table and then causing an old takeaway box to fall off the edge, and c) floundering wildly with a faceful of a Draco smelling fabric. (It's Draco’s scarf, his brain supplies. Helpfully). Harry groans, inhaling deeply, he was so hungover. 

 

Why in Merlin was he even so drunk, and where was Draco-  _ oh.  _ Yeah that was why he was drunk.

 

Harry dropped his head heavily onto the floor. He regretted it the second after. Harry pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes.

 

He stayed like this for the next three hours.

 

***

 

Pansy burst in in a flurry of maroon silk, fur, and a cloud of dubious smelling perfume. Draco was swaddled in a layer of blankets, glass shard forgotten on the bed next to him, just a swath of blond hair poking out of the otherwise trembling bundle.

 

Pansy immediately rushed over, picking her way through the broken glass with surprising ease given the scarily pointed heels she had on. Settling a hand atop Draco’s normally shiny blond hair that was now truly able to be called a “mop”,  Pansy moved the glass shard out of the way, and settled in next to him. 

 

Draco cried a little more.

 

***

 

Hermione was head of the Unspeakables in the Ministry, and Draco worked in the bookshop from across the Ministry. They had lunch together almost everyday, except those days where Hermione was overcome by an urge to reorganise her entire department via intense lunch meetings because  _ Merlin don’t you people know how to think? _

 

Draco didn’t turn up for lunch that day, she sent him an owl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> amazing thanks to betas [cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidneythekidney/pseuds/sidneythekidney/) and [sydney (she has great art check her out](https://sydneytheunanxious.tumblr.com/) wow coincidence for the amazing moral support i love all of u so much okay
> 
> ill try ( TRY ) to update more often but finals are in 20 days rip
> 
> find me at :  
> @remusjupin on twitter and  
> avadapotter.tumblr.com on tumblr
> 
>  
> 
> xoxo claire

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys so this was my first ever real legitimate contribution to the drarry fandom ( not including all the trash i post on my other social media that will be linked below lol ) and im honestly quite happy with myself anf this and i hope u guys like it too !!! feel free to let me know about any mistakes ive made in this fic ( feedback is always welcome, feedback is _more_ than welcome ) and please do leave a comment about what you thought of it and a kudo if u enjoyed it !!! also i would love to talk to people that've read my fic so hit me up anytime on my social media fanaccs and we can be friends !!!
> 
> x claire
> 
> find me :  
> [ on twitter !!! ](https://twitter.com/remusjupin)  
> [ and on tumblr !!! ](avadapotter.tumblr.com)


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